Beneath the Mask
by tigeruke
Summary: Everybody's got secrets. When school bully Marshall Lee pushes Bubba Gumball too far, his are unwittingly revealed and the consequences change everything. Rated T because it's slash. M/PG
1. Bully

Adventure Time© belongs to Pendleton Ward. All rights are his.

Author's note: Hello. This is my first slash and I'm kind of nervous but I love this pairing and had this story line in mind. Please tell me what you think and whether I should continue!

I really would like some feedback so please write anything! But no flames about the pairing because they stink. They will just be used to cook my smores.

Just in case: I will be mostly referring to Prince Gumball as Bubba throughout this story. Of course, Marshall is still Marshall and there will be involvement from all characters and not just these two and there won't be any confusion with the names there, just that of course I can't refer to Gumball as Prince G if he isn't a prince in this scenario.

Marshall Lee was a bully.

Everybody knew it and he had a reputation for being the worst of all school bullies. He wasn't big and stocky or small and rat-like, how a bully was expected to look. He was pale, medium height and lean and wiry with wild dark hair and quite a handsome face when it wasn't twisted into a sneer or a smirk (which was, unfortunately, most of the time) and he was quick and strong and cruelly intelligent.

He stood out amongst a huge group of rowdy and conforming teenagers because of the violent music he listened to and the gothic way he dressed and he made himself look threatening so people wouldn't dare challenge him. He had a mean streak a mile wide and picked on just about everyone. His pranks were horrible and demeaning and his sarcasm was biting like his throat was full of razor blades that he wanted to spit at people to make them hurt. He cared little for classwork and had some of the worst grades on record.

He was a demon pretending to be a boy and no one knew this better than Bubba Gumball.

They were polar opposites. Bubba shared Marshall's homeroom class and was the rep. He was the smartest boy in school with the highest grades and a clean bill of attendance. He never stepped out of line and did his best to help people. He was also head of the science club. The only thing he really faltered with was sports. It was shared knowledge that Bubba was a mathematical prodigy and many teachers believed he would go on to do great things. A little shy Bubba had few friends but each were loyal and caring and the best kind he could have. There didn't seem to be a mean bone in his body, unlike the other boy.

If they were animals their roles would be obvious. Marshall: the prowling wolf always looking for prey. Bubba: the skittering rabbit trying to escape. It seemed that out of all the people Marshall terrorized, he hated Bubba the most.

He played so many pranks on Bubba that the teen came to expect them and was always watching over his shoulder. One such prank had an everlasting effect, the mixing of chemicals in the science lab turning Bubba's hair pink, something only remediable by complete hair removal and regrowth. Since Bubba didn't fancy being bald for months he'd just sighed and bared it, though Marshall always howled with twisted humor about its color.

Marshall pushed him in lockers and trapped him there, put ink bombs in his school bag, stole his lunch money, knocked him around, called him names, chased him home, gave him wedgies in the boys locker rooms when they were changing for physical education, used whichever sport it was they were playing as an excuse to hit Bubba, be it a football tackle or a soccer ball to the face, made fun of Bubba's friends simply for being his friends, threw food and spit balls at him in the cafeteria, and was a general nuisance to Bubba as much as he could be.

He'd become a living nightmare for Bubba. A haunting evil with a solid form that lived to make him miserable. He made Bubba's school life hell as much as he could and he enjoyed it. He was a seventeen year old shell of spite and hate and he was wearing Bubba down the more days passed.

Bubba was timid and gentle and didn't like confrontation or fighting. He put up with Marshall Lee because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't believe in hating people but he truly disliked his tormentor, and his patience was thin and struggling with breaking point. He thought if he ignored Marshall as much as he could and pretended the boy didn't exist and that his torture didn't affect him, the demon would get bored and move on.

But he'd tried it for months and no such thing happened. He told teachers who gave Marshall warnings and detentions he didn't heed, suspensions he didn't care about and lectures he didn't listen to. Bubba had no idea why the trouble maker simply hadn't been expelled from school because his dismal grades and bad behavior were enough to warrant it. He was even on probation from an arrest where he was caught vandalizing and spraying graffiti.

But such as it was, Marshall still attended Cheshire High and haunted its other attendees and it was slowly driving Bubba to breaking point. It was an ink bomb that pushed him over the edge, ironic that a small explosion set off the big one that had been bubbling in his chest for months on end.

Bubba woke up late that morning due to a faulty alarm clock. He panicked because he didn't want a tardy stain on his record. He was planning on getting into the most prestigious of universities and a single late would mar his record. He was also more irritable than usual because he'd not got enough sleep, staying up late to complete a class assignment. He skipped breakfast to the concern of his foster parents and ended up running to school, passing the spot where he usually met up with his friends Fionna and her younger brother Finn without looking back to see if they were waiting for him.

Running until the stitch in his side became an aching burn, he made it in the school building before the morning bell rang with just enough time to put his stuff in his locker. Bag on his back and chest heaving, he fished the key from the chain around his neck as students milled around him. The calming sound of the lock clicking as he turned the key soothed errant nerves and Bubba opened the door…

BANG!

The bomb went off and took the unsuspecting Bubba by surprise. A mixture of ink colors drenched him and an uneasy silence settled over the students in the hall, many stopping to look on in shock. When the first trickle of laughter began to thread through the crowd white hot anger seeped into Bubba's system. His clothes were _ruined_. The ink was everywhere, in his hair and on his face and body. He could even taste it in his mouth and his eyes stung.

Bubba already knew the culprit. All he had to do was show himself.

"Man! That was hardcore!" A nasty laugh blurted louder than anyone else and Marshall Lee made his presence known, sneaking up right behind his victim. "Dude, you look like the Biro factory puked on you!"

The pot boiled over and Bubba's jaw snapped shut. His fists clenched and rage overtook him.

"You imbecilic asshole!" He roared, pivoting on the ball of his foot and throwing all his weight into the fist he crashed into Marshall Lee's face. Bubba never partook in any fights and didn't really know how to throw a punch, but with all the rage inside him and the force he used to attack, he smashed Marshall so hard he sprawled to the ground after a loud crack and the satisfying connection of Bubba's fist to the soft flesh of the bully's face.

Whether or not the cracking was Bubba's knuckles or Marshall's nose was yet to be discovered, but the aforementioned began to stream blood as Marshall managed to sit up, eyes watering as he held his nose with one hand and stared up at Bubba, whose chest was heaving as he struggled to reign in his emotions. Red seeped through Marshall's fingers and Bubba felt strangely satisfied.

"Whoa…" Someone whispered in the crowd which had become deathly silent again as if they couldn't believe what just happened.

"Way to go, guy!" Somebody else yelled suddenly, one of the many who'd been a victim of Marshall's pranks. It kicked off the trend and then suddenly people were yelling and laughing – at Marshall. Bubba felt like he was being hailed a hero.

"You're gonna pay for this," Marshall tried to promise menacingly from the ground, but the effect was not so pronounced because of his fingers attempting to staunch the blood flow from his nose. It made the uproar of laughter in the crowd even louder and as he glared and hissed, much like an aggravated cat, Marshall got to his feet and sprinted away, shoving through students like a charging rhino.

The brief snap of adrenaline was wearing off and Bubba started to feel shaky. Suddenly Finn was pushing through the crowd and hauled an arm around Bubba's shoulders. He didn't seem to care he was getting covered in ink. "Killer right hook, bro! I didn't know you could hit like that. I think you broke his nose or something!"

Or my knuckles, Bubba thought in despair as his hand began to throb. But he couldn't deny that he felt good. He'd finally stood up to Marshall Lee, king of the bullies.

"What's going on here?"

The principle's voice cut through the noise and students scattered. She was a stern looking woman whose appearance belied her true nature, but that was not to say she couldn't be harsh with students who'd done wrong. Her name was Mrs Peppermint and she was a vastly respected teacher.

She also liked Bubba a lot because he helped out around the school and was one of her best students, so the moment she saw him covered in ink and holding his throbbing hand, she beckoned him with a grimace. It was pretty obvious what went on. "Oh dear," she said sadly, "come with me to the nurses' office, Bubba. We have some spare clothes you can put on then we'll talk about what happened."

Finn waved Bubba off as he slinked away. "See you later bro! I'll tell Fionna what happened and that you said hi!"

The morning really wasn't going the way he planned. Bubba found himself seated in front of the principle's desk in someone else's clothes with a brace on his hand. There was a dull ache between his knuckles but the nurse assured him that nothing was broken, just bruised. Bubba kicked his feet and held his head down. He got most of the ink from his hair but there were still odd little colour patches.

He'd felt proud of finally giving Marshall what for at first but when the nurse was patching him up he began to feel guilty in the way of a child who'd been caught sneaking cookies. Technically there was no proof that Marshall had done anything wrong and Bubba made the first move. He knew of course that it was Marshall who put the ink bomb in his locker but there was no evidence and he'd struck a student unprovoked.

"Now Bubba," Peppermint began. She'd received the full story while Bubba got patched up and she was always the one who the boy went to when complaining about Marshall. "You're a very smart boy so I guess you're already feeling guilty about what you did as you think it over."

"Yes, ma'am," Bubba replied dutifully, because she spoke the truth.

"And I know you, Bubba, so I know that you wouldn't attack a student unprovoked. I also know that Mr Lee has been bothering you for quite some time, and I'm not unfamiliar with the feeling of repressed anger myself." Peppermint shuffled some papers and fixed a stern eye on the boy in the chair opposite her, but the gaze was softer than usual. "Nevertheless, that doesn't excuse the fact that what you did was wrong and you deserve punishment for it."

Bubba winced and didn't take his eyes off the ground. "…yes, ma'am." He'd attempted to avoid a tardy notice on his record but was leaving with a much more severe punishment. Now Bubba felt miserable. Stupid Marshall Lee.

Peppermint sighed in sympathy. "Mr Lee will be questioned accordingly regarding the ink bomb in your locker, so don't think he'll get away scott free if he is indeed the perpetrator, but the issue of_ your_ punishment will be dealt with right now." Dread coiled like a snake in Bubba's belly. This would ruin him, surely… "After school today you will deliver a letter to Mr Lee's parents after school and apologize to him for hitting him."

Bubba's head jerked up in surprise. "That's all?"

Peppermint smiled. "You have to mean your apology, Bubba. But yes, that's all. I won't put this on record because I know you're a good boy who acted out against bullying. And I don't need to warn you not to do it again, do I?"

"No, of course not, Mrs Peppermint." Bubba's eyes shined with happiness. Peppermint opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved a sealed brown envelope. On the front Marshall's home address was printed. When Peppermint handed it to him Bubba briefly wondered why he was being made to deliver this rather than it being sent via post, but in reality he was just happy this was his only punishment.

The apology to Marshall was very distasteful however. Bubba wasn't sorry he hit the boy. He'd had it coming for a long time.

"Make sure Mr Lee's parents get that, won't you?" Peppermint said, waiting for Bubba to confirm he heard and would do his best. She smiled when he nodded obediently. "Good. Your soiled clothes will be washed and returned to you before the day is out. We'll try our best to get rid of the ink. Starchy is very good with stains."

"Thank you, ma'am," Bubba replied, much lighter in spirit than he felt when entering the office.

"You're welcome. Have a good day, Bubba."

Whisper of what Bubba did to Marshall was spreading through the school the whole day. People kept sending him looks and talking amongst themselves, some laughing and others wary. Bubba ignored them. The brace on his hand made it hard to write so he was excused from it in most classes, his sponge-like brain making up for the lack of notes. He was glad when lunch rolled around so he could see his friends, and they swarmed him when he sat at their usual table.

"Is it true you socked Marshall, dude?" Fionna said first, sitting next to him with a tray full of food. "Everyone's talking about it. Like, Finn told me first but I didn't believe him 'cause he talks butt a lot of the time."

"Hey! I so do not!" Finn snapped, joining them next. His friend Jake was with him, a scrappy boy with yellow-blond hair. He was chewing on a slice of pizza.

"Ev'ryone's goin' crazy about it man," he said, spraying crumbs everywhere. Finn laughed and Fionna yelled "sick, dude!"

Bubba blushed under the attention. "I…yes. It's true."

"Whoa!" Fionna said in awe. "Why'd you hit him?"

"He put an ink bomb in PG's locker," Finn said, thumb wrestling Jake for the last slice of pizza on Fionna's tray. "It was bad, dudes. PG looked like rainbow puke."

PG was Bubba's nickname, gifted by his friends. He still didn't know what it stood for.

"Gnarly…" Fionna said quietly. "He got what he deserved though. I mean, what…he's been bugging you like, forever."

"Did you get in trouble?" Finn asked curiously, and there was a collective "Ooh" when Bubba revealed his punishment.

"That's weird man," Jake said, frowning. "Why d'you have to deliver a letter to his parents?"

"Maybe it's 'cause he's in trouble and Peppermint wants to make sure they get the letter or something," Fionna offered with a shrug. She began to dig into a cup of green jello.

"It sucks you have to apologize," Finn sighed. "Marshall's a total jerk."

"I'd prefer this to a mark of assault on my record," Bubba confessed. He picked a little listlessly at his own lunch. Suddenly the table jumped with a new arrival.

"'Sup, y'all," said Catherine, a friend of Fionna's who became a friend of them all, who also demanded everyone call her Cake. She had dark skin and curly voluminous hair and was fiercely protective of her friends, especially Fionna. "So I heard on the grapevine that our Gummy gave that nasty boy Marshall a smack."

"He totally did!" Fionna gushed, proceeding to fill Cake in. Bubba felt a little bit like a piece of gossip and wanted to sink into the ground.

"Well I say you did the right thing," Cake said, patting Bubba reassuringly on the back. "And you don't need to apologize, no one's gonna know if you don't. Heck knows that boy don't deserve it."

"It's alright, Cake," Bubba said with a weak smile. "Apologies are worthless if the speaker doesn't mean it."

"So true," Jake chimed in, grinning at Finn. "So when I apologized for using your toothbrush to get dog poop off my shoes, I didn't mean it."

"What the hay!"

After school Bubba found himself in unfamiliar territory. Marshall Lee lived in what was considered the bad area of town. The houses were run down and there was a lot of crime on the streets and strange people hung about and known gangs claimed to own the territory.

Bubba felt terribly exposed and in danger as he walked further into the lion's den. His shoulders hunched and he tried to bury himself as much as possible in the navy blue hooded sweatshirt he was wearing, not minding so much now that it belonged to someone else. His clothes were cleaned and in his bag but he hadn't bothered changing. He just wanted this to be over and done with.

Many houses had broken windows and some looked un-lived in and uncared for. Gardens were overrun with long grass and weeds and the area looked as though order and upkeep had abandoned it. Bubba was immensely glad he didn't live here.

Marshall's house had a messy front yard like most of the others. There was a broken TV strewn across the grass and the rusty frame of a bike similar to the one Marshall rode to school rotting in the weeds. The house looked run down but no windows were broken. Bubba felt out of place and nervous as he weaved his way down the path to the door. He was just going to give them the letter then go. The apology could wait.

He poised a fist to knock on the door, wondering if it was maybe better to just put the letter through the mailbox. But that option was dashed when he saw it was crudely nailed shut. He chewed on his lip for a moment. Then he heard glass smashing from inside the house and raised voices. He only caught some words, most hard to make out and muffled. What he did catch was shocking.

"Bastard…I work…good for nothing…leech…useless child…waste of space…ungrateful…!"

There was a dull thud and the sound of a man crying in pain. Bubba's curiosity got the better of him and he sidestepped to the window to peek in. An angry woman who looked like Marshall was screaming at a man on his knees. He seemed to be trying to fight back, but then she brought a bottle over his head and he dropped to the ground. Gasping as his heart pounded, Bubba jerked away from the window and clumsily spun around with the intent of leaving as quickly as possible.

Marshall Lee was standing across the yard, fixing him with a furious stare. Bubba froze.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He growled. His nose was swollen and there was dried blood on his face, hands and shirt. Bubba swallowed, the letter in his hands burning like coal. Marshall's dark eyes dragged down to it and back up and the tight anger in him seemed to ready itself. A mad scream inside the house made Bubba flinch. Marshall growled again. "What did you see?"

When Marshall took a single step forward Bubba did what his instincts were screaming at him to do. Dropping the letter to the ground, he fled as fast as his legs could carry him. To his horror, Marshall began to follow. This wasn't like the times the bully would chase him home. That was for fun. This time Marshall loped after him like a wild animal intent on tearing its prey to pieces.

Bubba ran with no direction. He didn't really know where he was or his way around the place. Fear was tight in his belly and his heart thundered like drums. Marshall was faster than he was. He caught up with Bubba in an old kids' park that had long since been abandoned and everything turned to rust. He used his weight and momentum to crash into Bubba and bring him down.

Bubba's head smacked against the tarmac and his world spun. His bag crushed beneath his back and text books dug into his spine. A heavy weight that was breathing like a pissed off bear prevented him from moving. The musky smell of cologne and sweat filled Bubba's nostrils. Then there were hot, vice like hands wrapping around his throat and he was being shaken like a doll.

"What did you see?" Marshall roared at him. Bubba felt his brain rattle and he wasn't quit registering what was going on. "What the hell did you see?"

When he realized that Marshall was trying to kill him, Bubba went wild with fear. He began to kick and flail, scratching at Marshall's arms to try and get him off. He couldn't breathe, Marshall's hands were so tight, but he bucked madly like a spirited bull determined not to let anyone ride it smoothly. He saw a glint of madness in Marshall's dark eyes, along with that hot anger and something unidentifiable. And he saw himself as the life was choked out of him, the fight draining from his body as he became weaker. His eyes filled with tears. He didn't want to die…

Suddenly Marshall let go and recoiled, gasping as though _he _was the one who'd nearly been choked to death. Bubba worked on filling his lungs with air, black spots appearing in his vision.

"I…I'm so…I…so sorry," Marshall mumbled. Bubba strained to prop himself up on his elbows. Marshall looked stricken, horrified, and…vulnerable. His lively eyes darted everywhere, at Bubba and then away, skittish like wild rabbits. It didn't look right on Marshall, the boy who was always smirking. He looked…lost. "I…I didn't…oh god sorry…"

For the second time that day, Marshall Lee ran away. Bubba fell back onto the ground as his body trembled, tears streaming down his cheeks. He'd almost died. Marshall Lee nearly killed him. But then he'd stopped. Why did he stop? He seemed murderous enough. And he hated Bubba's guts. Who were the people in Marshall's house that made the boy so mad because Bubba saw them?

_He almost died_.

Bubba tried to get up. It would be a bad idea to fall unconscious in the open at a place like this. He couldn't quite stand, so he managed to drag himself under a slide and hide himself from view. With shaky hands he fished his phone out of his bag. The screen was cracked and the device was unusable. He wouldn't be able to call anyone and he was about to pass out.

_He almost died_.

Bubba's head thudded back onto tarmac and he stared at little spider webs under the slide, most of which held the dead husks of their creators. He could have ended up like that at Marshall's hands. A tremor shook through him.

Before Bubba's eyes closed he thought about the look on his almost-killer's face. Vulnerable. He'd never seen that on Marshall Lee before. Why was it there?

_I almost died_.


	2. You're confusing me

Thank you everyone who encouraged me, read and reviewed. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter but I'm excited for the next one. Anyway here are some replies from the bottom up.

Guest (1): Is that the monkey from Family Guy?

Pee-ing: Thank you, here's the continuation *smiley face*

SleepingInBloodAndSnow: Cool penname! There will be drama ahead so buckle your seatbelt.

Nicole: Thanks! Here's some more.

Hi-DefGirl0615: The romance will be soon but I've gotta build a story around it first, don't I? Thanks for your input!

Communistcomrade: Update is here. Thank you!

I'v: That depends, are you talking about between the rest of the gang? If there's a pairing you want to see, let me know. **That goes for everyone too!**

Chichita: Thank you so much and here's the next one!

Guest(2): Here it is! Thanks for the review.

Guest(3): Thank you ever so much. That review was like warm cocoa on a cold day. Really! Ultimately it's up to the reader to decide where they see PG slotting into, but if I'm going to be honest I'll say I consider him a bit of all three options, and a mysterious fourth I'll be introducing soon. And as for Marshall, again, you'll see. *wink*

Deaz: Thanks a million! Here's the follow up.

RebelAngel91210: Will do, thanks!

Cherry: Thank you, really! It's so great to see such an enthusiastic response! Makes me feel good that people like my story, y'know? *grin*

Adventure time girl 123: the awesomeness rendered you speechless, right? Hah just kidding! But thanks for the comment!

memanems: Thanks! Now you're about to find out!

redmask22: I'm sorry! So many unhappy faces! Here's the next installment so you don't get mad!

mii: Wow, I'm glad!

It was raining when Bubba came to.

Fat drops fell from the sky like big tears and soaked everything with its wet tantrum. The clouds darkened with Mother Nature's depression and so did the ground as it took the brunt of the weather assault. Bubba was still under the slide and for a moment his vision was filled with metal and plastic and cobwebs, the rain hitting his protection sounding like gunshots. He panicked because he forgot where he was and why his head ached. Then it came back to him like a bruising punch to the nose.

Marshall Lee.

Bubba's hands flew to his neck. Sore to the touch and aching, proof he hadn't imagined everything. He inhaled a sharp breath when a spike of pain flared in his hand; he eyed the brace wrapped around it as his bearings began to return. The schoolboy remembered passing out after a flash of guilty eyes and he sprung up, whacking his already throbbing head on the underside of his shelter. He had no idea what time it was and the rainclouds made the outside world seem darker than usual.

He wasn't wearing his watch because it was covered in ink from the day earlier and his phone lay broken and useless next to him, so he had no way of knowing the time. He could've been out for hours or minutes. Only his friends knew the place he was headed after school but none of them had any inkling where Marshall lived. Bubba wasn't known for going off after school on his own, not even to hang out with friends. He imagined that if he had died today in this park, only his killer would know. He would become like those kids on milk cartons, lost forever as their forlorn and sombre faces stared at people who would eventually forget about them.

He cursed his overactive imagination as he crawled out from his hiding place on unsteady legs. It might get him good grades but it took him to dark lands sometimes. What was important right then was getting home. Depending on how long he'd been gone, his parents were probably worried sick. Not to mention all Bubba wanted to do right then was curl up under his covers. He was drenched in seconds, the downpour soaking through his thin clothes. Dismally he thought he'd probably end up with a fever before the night was over.

Stumbling out of the park, Bubba was faced with another dilemma: he had no idea where he was or how to get home. He hugged himself tightly and began to shiver looking left and right, nowhere familiar standing out in his mind. When he'd been running away from Marshall he wasn't paying attention where he was going or mapping the route in his powerful mind. He'd only been concentrating on escaping and what a silly mistake that was.

Before he could sink to his knees in despair his rational brain began to create a scenario. If he pushed ahead, found a road and followed it, the chances were he'd run into someone that could give him directions. He was in a seedy part of town and if he stayed on his own for too long something terrible might happen. He knew it took 24 hours before the police sent out a search for a missing person but he was just being dramatic. Things wouldn't go that far. If he'd been gone for long enough his parents would be out looking for him anyway. Everything would be okay. He just had to find a way back.

He trekked up the weaving path, occasionally snagging his foot in snares of dead shrubbery. His shoes and socks sloshed full of cold and dirty water and his toes were numb and the light fabric hood he pulled over his head did little to shelter him. The rain made the area seem even greyer and the reflections of houses in puddles were twisted and stretched. The whole place felt like a set from a Tim Burton movie and Bubba clutched himself tighter and kept walking. As soon as his feet touched the cracked tarmac of a road a thought struck him.

What if he ran into Marshall again? What would the boy do?

Bubba felt a rare lack of thoughtlessness when he couldn't build a scenario on what would happen and calculate the possible outcomes. Marshall had proven he possessed an unpredictable streak. Bubba's neck throbbed as a reminder and he decided he wouldn't think about it when he wasn't in his right mind. He faced what he hoped was north and struggled with the choice: go left or right? Before he could make his decision while he weighed the pros and cons of a coin toss because calculations always made him feel calmer, a car pulled up. Bubba quickly flagged it down and it stopped as the drivers' seat window rolled down. Bubba felt nervous under the scrutinizing gaze of the driver. She was a young woman maybe in her early twenties with a wild haircut and dark piercing eyes. She reminded him of Marshall a little…and then he wanted to slap himself. That boy was on his brain too much if he liked every person he saw to him.

"Excuse me," he said as politely as he could through chattering teeth. "Do you how I can get to Prince Street?"

"Mm, yeah," the girl said. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of right, the way she'd come from. "It's that way. Keep going up until you reach the first crossroads then turn left. You'll come out on the main road. After that it's a one way ride."

"Thank you." Bubba bowed politely and got a weird look from the driver.

"You uh…want a lift?" She offered and snickered. "You look a little wet."

Don't accept a ride from strangers, the sudden thought popped into Bubba's head. Even though he was sixteen years old and could handle himself adequately (although he wasn't sure today really counted as proof of that) his foster parents' lessons had never been forgotten. Bubba was sure this woman didn't mean him any harm but he was not going to take any chances. There had already been one attempt on his life today and that was one time too many.

"No, I'll be fine. But thank you kindly for the offer."

The woman shrugged. "Whatever." Then she drove away and left Bubba in a plume of petrol gas and with directions. He picked up his pace now that he knew where to go and before he knew it he reached the crossroads. But he was not alone.

A little wet shivering poodle was pacing up and down and whining sadly. When it spotted Bubba it padded over to him and the boy's first instinct was to run away. He didn't like dogs very much but this unfortunate mutt looked so miserable that the instinct curbed. A collar jingled around its neck and Bubba peered at it. It said: _Schwabl_. What a strange name. There was no address for the dog to be returned to should it get lost.

"Hello," he said softly to it as it cried and looked up at him with big shining eyes. He tentatively reached down a hand for it to sniff and the pooch licked it straight away. A rough tongue tickled Bubba's palm. He looked sadly at the skinny creature and felt a tug at his heartstrings. Even though he really wanted to get home he couldn't very well leave it out in the rain. The poor thing would die. He noticed a large cardboard box propped up against a street lamp and an idea came to him.

The dog followed when he wandered to the box. He turned it on its side and opened it, glad the thick card had prevented rainwater from leaking inside too much. He reached into his bag and pulled out half a broken and melted candy bar and opened it so he could place it inside the box. The dog scurried in after it and began to gobble it up and Bubba smiled slightly. "Now you stay in here where it's dry and you'll be ok." He told the dog and hoped it would listen. Hoping was all he could do.

The dog didn't come after him when Bubba left so he took it as a good sign. The weight of the rain and his troubles on his back was beginning to give him a hunch. He decided then if he didn't pick up his pace he'd never get home. But sports and physical exertion had never been Bubba's strong points and he was running out of breath by the time he reached a midway point in the road. But things were starting to look familiar: houses and street signs and lampposts and a kid on a BMX…

Bubba had to squint through the sheets of rain and his sopping hair dripping into his eyes but he thought he recognized that person on the bike. All he had to do was get a little closer…

"Finn!" He yelled suddenly as recognition hit home. A huge dose of relief flooded through his system and he'd never been happier to see that boy in his life. "Thank goodness, Finn! Finn, over here!" He waved his heavy arms and caught the boy's attention.

The BMX braked in front of him, skidding hard and sending torrents of water splashing everywhere. Finn wore a light blue coat but his trademark hat was missing, his blond hair wet, free and a mess and matted to his forehead. He looked as relieved to see Bubba as Bubba was to see him. "Dude, where have you been? Everyone's looking all over for you and your parents are worried sick!" He exclaimed. It pleased Bubba to hear this even though he was sorry he'd caused them all worry.

"I'll explain when we get back home," Bubba said, itching to get out of this rain. He shivered violently and Finn took heed.

"Ok man. Just get on the back."

Bubba did as instructed, though it was difficult to get a foothold on Finn's stunt bars with his slippery shoes. His arms wrapped tightly around Finn's waist and felt his muscles ripple through the coat when the boy began to peddle.

"I've been looking for you for like, ages man!" Finn called over the sound of the rain and wind as they moved. "Fionna's out too, and Jake!"

"What time is it?" Bubba requested, touched.

"Like eight thirty or something."

Bubba felt his stomach drop. He'd been gone for five hours, most of that spent unconscious. Briefly he wondered where Marshall Lee ran off to and if he went home to that household of violence or if he was out somewhere in the rain, but then shook the thought away. It didn't matter.

Bubba supposed he was lucky Finn found him. The boy was somewhat reticent in the way that he preferred action over conversation and since Bubba said he'd explain what was going on later, Finn didn't push. As Bubba held on he wondered what he was going to tell his parents. The truth he thought at first, but found himself surprisingly hesitant of the idea.

This was his chance to finally get Marshall Lee out of his life forever. But why did feel like he wanted to keep what happened to himself?

Prince Street was coming into Bubba's view, his cheek pressed against Finn's back. He felt comforted instantly. The bike stopped in front of Bubba's yard and he carefully slid down, feet touching the pavement. The lights were on in his house and he could feel the homely atmosphere sliding through his very skin. Finn got off the bike too and left it on the ground, walking with Bubba to the door.

"Your parents are gonna flip," Finn warned before he poised a fist and knocked. The door swung open and Bubba's friendly foster mother was in the doorway, expression grief filled and worried, which turned to overjoyed when she saw her boy standing there looking a bit sheepish and dripping wet.

"Oh, Bubba!" She cried and flew out the door. She gathered him in her arms and squashed him against her sobbing with relief. "We were so worried! Where have you been? What happened to you? Why didn't you call?" She bombarded him with question after question when all Bubba wanted to do was get inside the warm house out of the rain. Finn took pity on him and cleared his throat.

"Maybe we should go inside Mrs Gumball," he said. The woman collected herself in surprise.

"Right of course! Oh Bubba, you look freezing! Come in and get out of those wet clothes!" She ushered them in the house and closed the door. She called out to her husband, an arm tightly around Bubba's shoulders. The warmth of being out of the rain make Bubba's skin prickle in pleasure and being back home after a stressful day felt wonderful. Bubba's foster father appeared in the hallway.

"What is it Betty? Did you find – oh, Bubba! There you are son!" He looked relieved to see Bubba, coming over to hug him. "Where have you been? Why didn't you call home?"

Betty laid a hand on her husband's arm. "Simon, let him get dry first. I'm sure there's an explanation for everything, right Bubba?"

Bubba obediently nodded his head when he was freed while his thoughts whirred. He really just wanted to curl up beneath his quilt because his head was still pounding and his hand hurt and so did his neck but his parents and his friends deserved an explanation. He trudged up the stairs leaving wet footprints on the plush carpet as his foster mother fussed over Finn and thanked him for finding her son.

Bubba dropped his heavy bag on the ground when he entered his room and fell on the bed. He eyed the brace on his hand and wondered if Peppermint had called his parents to tell them what happened earlier in the day or if anyone else had for that matter. Depending on that answer, he could decide what to reveal. Getting changed out of the sopping clothes, Bubba caught sight of his neck in the mirror. There were a mottle of finger shaped bruises forming on his pale skin and he gingerly touched them, remembering the phantom fear as Marshall choked him.

He didn't understand why he felt hesitant to tell someone what went on in that park. This was his chance to get Marshall Lee out of his life forever or if not then at least for a long time. The torment would finally be over. He could carry on with his school life without having to look over his shoulder all the time and live in fear of the next prank. By rights he should be fuming and the words were meant to be trying to spill from his lips to everyone who would hear about what Marshall did to him. Marshall deserved punishment for his attempt on Bubba's life. But as he circled each individual bruise on his neck Bubba wondered for the first time if it really _was _what he thought. Had Marshall Lee been trying to kill him? Bubba wasn't so sure anymore.

Those dark eyes of the boy's kept bothering him. Vulnerable. And then there was what Bubba unwillingly viewed in that house. It made Marshall so furious that Bubba saw the act of violence going on in there. Bubba considered that perhaps what Marshall did was spur of the moment and in passionate anger. He'd looked contrite when it was over, among other things. Bubba prided himself in being a budding scientist and he knew that there was always an alternate explanation for things.

But while this might be the case, what about all the bullying Marshall subjected him to at school? The things that boiled Bubba's blood… Shouldn't Marshall suffer the consequences for that? The pointless pranks and mindless mistreatment of his classmates and school attendees…which didn't seem so mindless when connected with what Bubba saw going on in his household. He was familiar with the phrase "bullies are just people who've been bullied themselves" so if what he saw there was a daily occurrence then maybe Marshall…

Argh! Bubba gripped his forehead and sighed. He needed to stop thinking about Marshall. In the end it was his parents who unknowingly made the decision for him to hide what happened. They were good, honest and simple people with kind hearts who'd adopted him when he was five and his sole living relative, his grandfather, passed away from old age. They thought he was happy at school (which he kind of was) and he was doing well and there were no problems. If he told them about Marshall (something he'd never done) they'd become worried and exhaust themselves trying to solve the issue and even though Bubba loved them, sometimes they could be incredibly smothering.

So he pulled on a turtle neck to hide his neck bruises and took the brace off, putting it safely under his pillow. Then when he thought he was ready, he faced the music.

Finn had apparently called Fionna and Jake to tell them he'd found Bubba because when the pink haired teen descended the stairs his mother was letting them in. Fionna hung up a navy jacket while Jake toed off huge wellingtons and peeled out of a bright yellow rain mac. Finn was in the kitchen munching on a sandwich.

"Where the heck've you been PG?" Fionna demanded when she saw him. "I was just about to call Cake and ask her to get her brothers to help with the search!" She stood and sized him up and he saw worry, anger, questions and relief in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone," Bubba replied honestly. Jake thumped his arm gently and grinned before joining Finn in the kitchen.

"Well now, I'll make some tea and Bubba can tell us just what happened. Would you like some tea Fionna?" Betty asked kindly and Fionna shook her head.

"No thanks Mrs. Gumball," she replied politely. Betty accepted her answer and headed for the kitchen herself. Bubba was about to follow but Fionna caught his arm. "Did something happen with Marshall, dude?" She whispered in his ear.

Bubba's heart leapt into this throat. That had to be the first thing Fionna thought of… "Of course not," he replied as evenly as possible. He felt guilty about lying but consoled himself with the thought of telling his friends tomorrow at school. "Don't worry Fionna. I'm alright." That part was stretching the truth a little too much and Fionna looked at him sceptically, so he put a hand on the one she was using to hold his arm still.

"What happened to your brace?" She wondered as she eyed his bare appendage and Bubba could have kicked himself.

"It was itching so I took it off for a short moment," he lied. Fionna was full of stupid sometimes but she wasn't always an idiot. Bubba was sure she'd get the connection between his removing the brace when he returned home and all the evasion. Her eyes narrowed.

"Do your parents know what happened at school today?" She asked him. Bingo.

"I don't know," he answered quietly.

"Are you gonna tell them if they don't?"

"No."

The look she was giving him was unreadable. He tried to convey his plea through his eyes, don't tell them!, and it seemed to work because her expression relaxed.

"Ok." Then she slugged him, quite hard too. Bubba winced and held his arm while Fionna fixed him with a glare. "That's for worrying me, you butt."

"I really am sorry," he said meekly and Fionna rolled her eyes.

"Whatever." She stalked past him and entered the kitchen. Bubba was smiling when he did the same. His mother pressed a warm mug of tea into his hands and Fionna filched a sandwich from her brother's.

"Go sit in the living room honey," Betty told him, "your father's in there. I'll be in shortly and you can tell us what happened, alright?"

"Yes, mother." Bubba did as he was told. His father was perched on the couch and he looked at his son with warm eyes when he entered.

"We were very worried about you son," he said as Bubba took a seat. He set down his tea on the coffee table and struggled to meet his father's eyes. He felt a bit self-conscious as if his father might be able to see through the turtle neck but realized he was just being silly. "It's not like you to go off after school for hours without contacting anyone."

"I'm sorry father." Bubba was really getting sick of apologizing. His father hefted a weighted arm around the teen's shoulders with a soft expression.

"It's alright. You're a teenage boy and sometimes you want to be alone for a while without people in your business. I know the feeling. Just let someone know next time, ok? You know how your mother gets."

So his father thought he'd wanted to be alone. Perhaps he could work this into his favor. By the time his mother and his friends trailed into the room he'd already thought up a plausible story.

"I just wanted to get some time on my own for a while after school because I was feeling a bit stressed," he told everyone crowded around the coffee table. "I went for a long walk and got a bit carried away, and then it began to rain so I took shelter and waited for it to let up. I couldn't call anyone to let them know because my phone died." And this was sort of true, only his phone was broken and had been left in the park where he fell unconscious by accident and he hadn't realized till he got home. "When the rain didn't stop after a long time I decided just to head home. I didn't mean to worry anyone and it won't happen again."

Fionna, Finn and Jake didn't look like they bought that story, but it was ok. They weren't the ones Bubba was trying to convince. He'd already played on his father's suspicions so the man thought his inkling had simply been confirmed and his mother looked placated and a little sympathetic, so he thought he'd won the battle there. He didn't like lying to them like this but in a way it was for their own protection.

Now that things were supposedly cleared up, Finn, Fionna and Jake thought it a suitable time to head home. Fionna gave Bubba a look that told him she totally didn't believe his story and would demand the truth at school the next day and he was both anticipating and dreading it. He allowed his mother to fuss over him for a while and promised he'd call her next time he pulled a similar stunt before stating he wasn't hungry and just wanted to go to bed, finally being allowed to sink into his soft mattress and think.

He'd believed he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of Marshall Lee's anger and hatred but now he realised he'd truly had no idea. The boy was a ticking time bomb and Bubba's throbbing neck was evidence. Even though he hadn't told his parents, he'd definitely have to let Mrs Peppermint know what happened when he went to school the next day. She had the right to know and so did the other students. What if one of them did something that set Marshall off like that again and what if they weren't as lucky as Bubba? The thought was chilling but also a little bit irrational.

He then pondered whether he should tell Peppermint about what he'd seen through Marshall's window. It felt like an immense invasion of privacy but again, the principle needed to know what she was dealing with. Would she punish Marshall for what he did to Bubba? She didn't have any authority to do so because what happened occurred outside of school times and grounds but she could call the police and give them the heads up. He was already on probation so maybe he'd get locked away or sent to a juvenile center. Bubba wasn't really sure that's what he wanted. He was so confused.

He groaned and sunk his face into a pillow. It was those stupid eyes haunting his thoughts about Marshall. Soulful and tormented, it felt like they were reaching out to Bubba and saying "Notice me! I need help!"

Before he went crazy, Bubba bit his pillow and then banished all thoughts from his head. He was just going to go to sleep and deal with everything tomorrow.

Or so he thought. When he woke up next he was running a high fever and completely delirious. It afflicted him for five days, during that time his parents took care of him and his friends brought his homework to him to complete when he was better and kept him updated on school work. He had vivid dreams depicting his worries about getting sickness absences on his school record and also of haunted eyes following him wherever he went.

During one of those days, when he was a little more lucid, he woke up late into the night with a strange feeling. He'd got up out of bed and stumbled to the window and swore he saw someone standing under a streetlamp across the road, looking up into his bedroom. But he'd chalked it up to the fever and forgotten about it the next time he woke up.

When the fever eventually broke he was pleased to find his strength returning. A long and cleansing bath showed him that the bruises on his neck were faint and he wondered as he washed if his parents noticed them at all when they cared for him. If they had they hadn't mentioned anything about them. He completed the stack of homework on his desk during his final day off school before the doctors deemed it healthy for him to return and he pondered what he was going to tell Peppermint as he hadn't had much time to think about it. In the end he simply decided on the truth. The time and the fever had been long enough for Bubba to somewhat get over the confusion he was feeling and he decided that Marshall did need to be punished, situation be damned.

Walking through the school gates that morning felt refreshing and as if Bubba hadn't done it in years. His friends flocked around him and told him of their concerns and that they were glad he was ok and they escorted him to his locker. He felt hesitant about opening it because he expected another ink bomb of some kind and prayed there wouldn't be, because he didn't know what he would do if there were. Luckily his locker was bomb-free and for some reason it lightened Bubba's chest, making him feel better than he had in a while.

His homeroom teacher and some classmates greeted him when he entered for morning registration. Bubba found his eyes drawn to the back corner chair where Marshall usually sat when he attended. It was empty and Bubba supposed he should feel good about that. Instead he didn't really know what he felt.

He sat down and lowered his bag to the floor, wondering how he was going to get away with buying a new phone and convincing his parents it was the same as his old one. He didn't have much money except his saved allowance and that wouldn't total up to enough. He felt stupid now about leaving it in that park for anyone to pick up, even if it had been broken and he was just desperate to get home. He might have been able to afford repairs but now he guessed he'd never know.

The teacher was half way through reading out names off the registration list when the door creaked open. Bubba didn't look up, immersed in a calculations book to ease his mind, but his breath caught when the teacher spoke.

"Marshall Lee. Lucky for you I haven't said your name yet. Take your seat."

Forces warred within Bubba. Look up, or keep his eyes on the desk. A spike of fear made his heart pump a little faster and tension crept into his bones. He hadn't been in Marshall's company since the incident and for all the scenarios he'd played out in his head, he hadn't thought about this. Facing Marshall again. He didn't know what to expect and that made his belly churn with nervousness.

He decided just to keep his head down. He felt a little cowardly but it was the easier option. So he did just that, ears strained for Marshall's footsteps. He couldn't hear them over the teacher's voice. Then a pale hand was thrust under his nose and he flinched, almost leaping out of his skin.

Marshall dropped something on Bubba's desk and then the hand was gone. Bubba blinked in amazement. It was his phone. He reached out tentatively and picked the device up, lifting his head and flipping up the top screen. The crack was gone. He pressed a button and the screen lit up, happily displaying his wallpaper, skirmish-free. The phone had been fixed.

Dazed, Bubba managed to peer over his shoulder at the back of the classroom. Marshall was in his usual spot, hunched into the corner and looking at nothing in particular. He seemed to be brooding, or perhaps just bored. His face gave no indication what he was feeling towards Bubba or about what he'd just done. It was carefully blank if Bubba had anything to say about it.

He looked at his phone again, flipping it open and shut a few times to confirm it really had been repaired. By the boy who was responsible for its destruction in the first place. Bubba risked another glance over his shoulder and met those dark haunting eyes again. They pierced him and Bubba didn't know what he saw in there. Then the teacher called his name and the spell was broken, but he was thinking one thing.

He was confused again.


	3. In his mind part 1

Warning! Some minor cussing here. Took a while because I was afk a lot and am learning guitar. I promise there will be serious GumLee in the next part but I do have to clear some stuff up first.

Adventure time girl 123: thanks a lot and you'll see

redmask22: thank you! I'm glad you like it

ChloeLurvsGlam: o.o don't explode! I don't want to be responsible for that! Here's the next one lol (:

huston boy: *puts on shades* deal with it (;

YoiNagi247: Hah, thanks so much for that review! You're awesome!

IwasBornaRainicorn: Heh, maybe I should have been a bit more specific. I meant that Marshall paid for the phone reparations, not that he did it himself. But maybe he's actually a wizard! OMG! Lol just kidding, thanks for reviewing (:

GoodByeNotGoodnight: Thank you so much (: it's true the high school thing is overdone but that was kinda the only setting a plot like this could take place. I'm trying to make it work!

Bloo Bro: Yesh he ish! Or ish he? Lol jk thanks for the review (:

jasmicabdo: thanks! Here it is

Deaz: thanks a bunch!

KoolAidAin'tKool: You're not a creeper, say whatever you want! I wanna hear it.

FlyingFerrets: Lmao! I take it you like this. Thanks! I'm glad.

Guest: Thanks, here's more (:

WordWarrior192: Thanks!

Nitemare Prince: Hah, you're the first person who noticed I think. I was hoping someone would get that (:

memanems: Wow! So much enthusiasm, that's awesome. I love stalker Marshall too (: thanks very much for the kind words

mint: Thanks a lot!

dip1080: Ok dude, here's some more (:

Lorne: Thanks, will do!

iamPG: Thanks for the reviews on both chapters and I promise they'll make up and be all romantic and junk soon (:

CopsOfSodaPops: there's a chapter three now (;

Isabella: thanks for both reviews, really! By all means, suggest whatever you want. I take it to heart and consider everything and how it can go into my story.

crazy-stalker-ninja-fangirl: did you not read the summary and the first author's note? It clearly states what this is. Don't read it if you don't like it.

Guest(2): Ok here it is! Hang in there fandom!

GlobbinGlobBumps: Thank you! I think it's because I've only just showed up in this fandom? I guess lol I dunno. But yeah here's the next chapter.

Skelegirl: Sorry! Here's more!

Secret Agent Awesome: demand and you shall receive!

Kiada: since you asked so uh…demandingly (lol) here is another chapter

awesome: can do!

vampmuffin: really? I didn't think it was very original myself but thanks a lot!

jasmic: omg don't die! You won't get to read this otherwise but I'm very flattered you think this is good (:

A thin cigarette hung between Marshall's middle and index finger. A trail of grey smoke escaped its burning end and scattered into the winds signifying both release and destruction at the same time. The nicotine soothed the itch growing in the back or Marshall's head, the bad kind of itch that got him in trouble because it meant he was thinking about disturbing stuff and needed to do something awful to take his mind off it.

He'd been doing awful things a lot lately and found that instead of giving him comfort like they used to, they were just making him feel worse. But at least sitting in the cubby hole he made from an old and giant tree beyond that trashed kids' park whilst sucking on a cigarette and enjoying the quiet was enough to calm the storm raging inside him.

"Dude, what's your problem? You're acting like a chump."

Except it would have been had Marshall been sitting in that cubby alone. Ash Evans leaned the front of his body over a gnarled tree branch and frowned at Marshall behind bleached white bangs. Marshall could see the tips of his canines peeking out over his lips; Ash thought of himself as some kind of vampire king – down at the club his brother owned, everybody knew him by that name. Marshall thought it was lame, especially when Ash filed his teeth to look like fangs.

"Shut up man," Marshall said simply, taking in another lungful. He glared when Ash filched the cigarette for himself and took unnecessarily long drags. The glare became a laugh when the white haired boy began to cough, his eyes watering while he struggled to breathe. Marshall knew Ash didn't like smoking but only did it because everybody thought it looked cool. He didn't need the nicotine or the comforting scent of tobacco or the grey fog in his lungs to feel ok after a stressful day, not like Marshall did.

"I'm, ugh, I'm serious man…geez, _ugh_." Marshall received the cigarette back in worse shape than before it left. He eyed it, close to the bud, distastefully. Ash lathered up a wad of spit and jetted it as far as it could go. It landed on the grass with a dull splat, wrinkling Marshall's nose. "The fuck is in that cig, dude? Sawdust?"

"Wuss," Marshall snickered. His tongue poked out and waggled for extra effect.

"_Whatever_. Anyway, the guys are starting to think you're wigging out. Like, where were you the other night when we were gonna light up at Wendy's place?" The "guys" were Ash's self-proclaimed gang, a group of teenagers with a penchant for loud music and smashing things up. Ordinarily this was meant to be Marshall's type of crowd and he did hang out with them a lot, but Marshall didn't really like Ash's friends. Ash met most of them at his brother's club The Wizard and they were all delinquents who dropped out of school and ditched their parents and had a rap sheet as long as their left arms. While Marshall was also called a delinquent, he didn't like associating himself with Ash's dweeb friends. They were the reason the cops busted him for spraying up the apartment blocks downtown.

But Ash wanted him there as part of the "gang" because he and Ash had a different kind of friendship than what the former shared with the rest of his group.

"I had stuff to do." Marshall's reply was curt. He flicked the cigarette bud away and it went sailing into the grass somewhere. He wondered briefly if it'd catch fire.

"Yeah right," Ash laughed, "like _what_?"

"_Stuff_, ok?" Becoming irritated, Marshall heaved himself out of the cubby and dusted off the back of his jeans when his feet hit the floor. His nose throbbed lightly as it did every now and again when he stood up too fast and blood rushed to his head, and he thought about a clenched fist flying at him and furious eyes and pink hair.

"Ok man, chill." Ash scoffed and let it go. He shoved his thumbs into his torn jeans pockets and waited on idle feet to see what Marshall would do. "You coming to The Wizard tonight? Big Bro says he's having a rave on and he's getting a legit band this time and whatever."

Marshall shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe. Whatever."

"Wow bro, you really are acting like a chump," Ash grouched. "Like, seriously! What're you, turning into one of those emo kids? I thought you didn't hang around with them in school. You know how I feel about them…"

"Dude, shut up." Meeting Ash square in the eye, Marshall delivered his warning. "I'm not acting like a chump or an emo and _stop_ digging at it. You got that? Besides, I can hang with whoever the hell I want there. It's not like _you_ go to school."

"School's for chumps," Ash sneered. "Can't believe they haven't thrown you out yet for all the junk you pull. Like pranking that nerd you talk about, what's his name? Gumdrop?"

"Gumball," Marshall corrected. Ash missed the tightening of his friend's expression and the arsenic in his tone of voice. He'd never been a very observant character, the kind of fish that took the juicy bait before realising there was a hook at the end and by that time it was too late to do anything but wriggle.

"What a stupid name. I bet his first name's something retarded, like Bobo. His parents must be all about clowns or something to give their son such a dumb name like that. Chumps. Seriously, I – hey man, where're you going?"

During his tirade Ash had become so self-absorbed he failed to notice Marshall Lee getting steadily further away. A rock sailed to nowhere when Marshall kicked it and he offered a vague, "home I guess," as his reply. Once again Ash missed the venom poised and ready to strike him.

"Can I come? I can kick your ass on Mortal Kombat or something."

"Mom'll probably be there," was all Marshall needed to say in reply. Ash's expression vaulted, becoming a frown of trepidation.

"Oh, bunk that. Um, so I guess I'll see you at The Wizard later?" He asked hopefully, in that soft tone he rarely used except when he wanted something. And he obviously wanted Marshall to be there for whatever reason and Marshall decided he'd think about it rather than just straight out saying no.

"Maybe," he offered, a slight shrug raising the sharp ridges of his shoulders. Then he left Ash in the dust to do whatever he felt like doing, probably spraying graffiti somewhere (which Marshall was not allowed to partake in whatsoever if he wanted to stay out of a jail cell, something that was beginning to look inviting).

Contrary to his words, his mother's car was not in the driveway which meant she either wasn't home or the vehicle was in the shop again. She'd bought the run down Volkswagen from a shoddy dealer and had a lot of trouble with it, something that incurred her wrath on her family more often than it should. Marshall fished his keys from his back pocket, old and rusty from where he'd thrown them in a river once or twice (then had to fish them back out) and used them to scratch up some cars here and there; he turned the lock and wondered, that dull ache pulsing in his nose again, if his mother would be inside. It no longer brought tenseness or fear to his throat. He just couldn't give a damn anymore.

The TV was on. Marshall could see the back of his father's form in its usual spot; the armchair positioned right in front of the watch box. The house smelled faintly of alcohol so Marshall deduced that no, his mother wasn't home. His father didn't drink when she was.

"'Sup dad," he called out over the sounds of boxing commentary floating through the air. Three week old newspapers littered the ground through the hallway serving as cheap doormats, replacing ones thrown in the trash because blood and muck was hard to wash out.

"Hey son," his father replied. He didn't lower the television's volume but he did crane his neck over his shoulder to glance at his boy. He was still wearing the bandages around his head that his daughter wrapped to cover the bleeding from that bottle incident and he hadn't bothered changing them. Whether or not it was time they came off, Marshall didn't know. "There's meatloaf in the oven if you want some. Your mother cooked it this morning."

"I'm not hungry," Marshall replied, already half way up the stairs.

"Suit yourself." And then his father was immersed in the game again, hooting along with the spectators when the fighter of his favour landed a good hit.

The upstairs of the household was a hell of a lot quieter since his sister moved away. She could always be counted on to play some kind of tune with her bass, either to fill the silence or piss their mother off or just to lull Marshall to sleep. Her bedroom door was still covered in posters and upside down crosses (anarchy, she said) and the huge words she'd written in what she claimed was blood but Marshall knew to be old red paint from the garage: _Marceline's Lair – Stay Out!_ Sometimes he slept in there, in her old bed, because the shadows at his window and in his heart were moaning and demanding attention. He couldn't hear them from Marceline's room; often he suspected that was why she'd demanded to switch rooms with him when he was ten. He'd wanted it back for so long but when she left he realised her being in there was most of the appeal.

It didn't feel the same without her. The room was empty and her stuff had been gone a while, but she'd been gone in spirit even longer. Marshall passed her door with nary a glance and entered the mess pit he called his own lair. The door shut behind him and he slid home a few of the locks he attached to the inside himself. Mostly they were for peace of mind but sometimes they kept at bay a raging woman from battering her son's skull in.

He fell on his bed, a lumpy mattress and a collection of covers in a heap, and started at the ceiling.

There were holes peppered in random patterns where he and Marceline used to sit on the bed and launch sharpened pencils into the plaster making a game of whose would stick. Wads of old chewing gum stretched into a smiley face and Marceline's name scrolled around it, scratched in with a penknife when the room still belonged to her. Marshall added his name afterwards but made it cooler by drawing fire licking at the letters.

In another corner of the room lay an old acoustic guitar that looked as though it had seen better days. Two strings were missing and small chunks of the wood had been gauged out. Splashes of ink and food soiled the once royal blue colour it used to be and on the back was a red hand print made of real blood, not garage paint. Marshall marked the guitar as his own when he got it as a hand me down from his sister; what better way to do that than to put one's lifeblood on something? He still had the small scar in the centre of his palm where he made the cut years ago.

He'd wanted to change the battered instrument's strings for a long time and was going to buy a new set before…well. His wallet felt emptier and yet somehow heavier in his pocket than before and he found himself occasionally staring into its blank depths, thinking about responsibility: teary eyes, frightened whimpers, the way his hands felt crushing that weak throat, how the pulse of its life thudded against his skin…it was easier to turn his thoughts away to how annoyed he was that he couldn't refurbish the guitar or buy that new video game he wanted.

But the truth of the matter was…

He couldn't get that damn boy out of his mind. No matter what he did, what he thought about, what he said, there he was. And now, when Marshall thought about him, he felt different.

He didn't even know how he'd felt before, seeing that nerd, that stupid, perfect, lucky nerd. The boy who could do no wrong, the boy who made he, Marshall, look and feel second, even third rate.

Marshall had never really had any friends who were good people and it never bothered him, because he wasn't a good person himself. But that boy…made him want to be better, and that in turn made him feel angry and resentful. Why should he _have _to be better? Why should he have to justify anything he did? He was fine as he was, sure, a little bit of a bad egg, but who could blame him?

But then perfect Bubba would walk by and showcase everything Marshall could never be, a good and smart student who never did anything wrong and who didn't live in a broken house and who wasn't stained by all the black and the shadows and the parent who resented him, and it burned inside Marshall that he wasn't good enough – but good enough for what? He didn't know, and he knew in the back of his mind it wasn't Bubba's fault either, but he needed something to take these confusing frustrations out on and who better than the person making him feel them?

In Bubba Gumball's presence, he was always overcome by a desire to do something to him, to aggravate him, to get a response. And they'd been fun at first; indignant, ruffled, embarrassed, angry. But then Bubba began to ignore him, to pretend that Marshall Lee didn't exist, and Marshall just couldn't handle that. Not again. Anything but that.

So he stepped up his game, became crueller with his pranks and taunts, all the while warring between his feelings of enjoyment and guilt and regret. It was like there was a part of him who didn't want to do these things to Bubba, who wanted to dust off the boy he used to be and show Bubba that he could be good, he could be a nice person, they could fit in together, get along…

But what was the point? He'd always be trash, it was in his blood, and this had never been more poignant than that day at the park.

It was one thing for him to show Bubba the mean and twisted and nasty side himself at school, but for Bubba to see the gnarled and thorny branches of Marshall's life in his home, the goings on Marshall couldn't control…

It was too much.

His blood roared in his ears _no no no no no no no_ and then he was angry, so angry, that Bubba should stand there and look upon all of Marshall's faults and see their origins and _know_…Bubba didn't deserve to know.

What was the boy to him anyway? It wasn't like they'd had any contact outside of Marshall's bullying. Bubba didn't know how he affected Marshall, and in turn, Marshall didn't know why the boy did so. Bubba probably hated Marshall, and for some reason, inside Marshall Lee, this thought _hurt_.

Which added more fuel to the fire because it _shouldn't _have hurt, since, hey, he wasn't trying to get Bubba to like him anyway _no one pure should like him _so it shouldn't bother him but it _did _and he couldn't figure out why.

He lost control of himself that day, something terrible inside him whispering to get rid of the witness, and only when he felt Bubba's hot tears of fear against his skin did sense sucker punch him in the gut and he woke up, realised what the hell he was doing, saw the terror and saw the image of himself, twisted and wild with rage and insanity, in Bubba's eyes and how he was _almost killing him_.

Sickness boiled in Marshall, horror, and he retracted himself so quickly he got vertigo. His stomach felt like it was falling, like _he _was falling off the cliff of sanity and down into uncertain depths _oh god no what am I doing no_ and then he just had to get away, away from the boy who had done all this to him.

It was the sick reality that had him puking his guts up later near his cubby, the reality that he was turning into his mother. The blood on his clothes, even if it was his own, made the sensation worse. He'd been trapped in that house for so long she was corrupting him, seeping into his skin, changing him. Or maybe Bubba was doing that.

He curled up in the tree for several hours while it rained on him, letting the downpour soak through his skin as though it could get to his bones and wash the filth away. It didn't work. It never did.

And even still, after smoking a whole pack of cigarettes and setting fire to an old television someone left in the street to rot, he didn't feel any better. His blood thrummed in his veins and he was twitchy, jumping at every other sound. He nearly pissed his pants when the jingle of his phone began to play.

It was a text from Ash, telling him to get his ass to Wendy's because he and his gang were waiting. But Marshall was not going there tonight, not in this state. Ash would ask questions and Marshall wouldn't know how to answer them or what to say.

Instead…

Like the part of him that was morbidly fascinated when, as a kid, he'd found a dead cat rotting in some undergrowth, killed by a car – the part of him that picked up a stick and poked the corpse till maggots and flies came out – his legs took him back to the park, just to see.

To see if Bubba was still there.

_To see if I killed him._

He hadn't known what he'd do if he had.

But Bubba was gone. Something like relief flowed through Marshall's veins and finally, _finally_, the thrumming stopped. It meant Bubba was okay, or good enough to get up and get out, and that made Marshall feel better because, despite everything, even though there was a part of him that wanted to make Bubba hurt, he never wanted to kill him.

Not even when Bubba socked him in the nose, a nose that up until then, he'd forgotten was even hurting.

Then he saw the phone, cracked and soaked through on the tarmac, and when he picked it up and flipped it open – nothing happened – it was like he'd been given a small chance to redeem himself.

He felt stupid for thinking that afterwards, but nevertheless he'd paid for the phone's repairs the next day, skipping school just because he still didn't feel right, like himself (but that was a regular occurrence lately) and prepared to return the thing when he got the chance.

Then Bubba didn't come to school.

Bubba _always _came to school.

Guilt and fear were crippling. What if he'd seriously hurt Bubba? Not killed him, because it would be all over the school if he had, but hurt him bad enough that…that he might never come back?

Bubba's phone, otherwise untouched in Marshall's pocket, burned into Marshall's consciousness. He was always aware of it there, the feeling growing as the days passed and still Bubba didn't come back to school.

He was getting strange looks from that girl, too, whatever her name was. Fionna? The one making doe eyes at Bubba all the time, even if he couldn't seem to see it. It sickened Marshall to the core and out of all of Bubba's friends, she was the one he disliked the most.

They ignored him most of the time. Bubba probably told them to. But the glances he kept feeling shot his way all the time from her, and occasionally from the rest of the peanut gallery, was setting him on edge. When he couldn't take it anymore, he went looking.

He'd chased the boy home enough times to know where he lived. The Pretentious Street, he called it. It was late and no one was going to see him; Marshall needed to settle this himself. He was across the street, staring up at the windows. A dim light glowed in one of them, Marshall didn't know if it was Bubba's bedroom or not, and he was contemplating throwing something up there when the curtains shifted.

Bubba looked out onto the street and Marshall's breath froze on its way up this throat. He slipped away as quickly as he could because he'd got what he came for, to know if the boy was hurt. He'd seemed relatively fine but what did Marshall know? All he had to do know was wait till he came back to school, give him the damn phone, and that was that.

Marshall knew he was deluding himself though.

Because...

_Damn it!_

He sprung up off his messy bed and violently shook those thoughts away.

Enough was enough. He needed to stop wallowing like some teenage girl and just get on with life. He grabbed the old acoustic guitar from the corner and sat heavily on the floor, beginning to tug out some harsh and angry notes. He wasn't really playing a tune so much as musically venting, but the effect was kind of lost on an acoustic. He should have asked Marceline to give him her bass instead.

He played for a while, eventually being carried away by the music like he always did when he really got into it. The sky was darkening outside but he took little notice, keeping his mind blank as his fingers took to life on the frets, going their own way and doing what they wanted. But like everything, the brief utopia it had to come to an end at some point. He skidded on a few jarring notes when suddenly the front door shut so hard the walls shook. It seemed his mother was finally home.

"That damn car! I had to put it in the shop again because it broke down, right on the god damned freeway! As if I have the fucking money for this!" Cabinets slammed and through the floor Marshall could hear his mother stomping around. "Hunson! You useless piece of shit! Is that alcohol I can smell? Are you wasting my hard earned money on alcohol?! I swear to god..."

Marshall tossed the guitar aside and stood in disgust. He was _so _not staying here right now. He opened the window and skillfully climbed out, using the ancient tree in the yard to get down.

He was going to The Wizard.


End file.
